


Delighted and Distracted

by nightshiftblues



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominant Bottom, M/M, Power Play, Prostitution, Threesome - M/M/M, a room where it happens-fic with a twist i guess, ultimate powerbottom ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 08:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14040387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshiftblues/pseuds/nightshiftblues
Summary: Hamilton’s smile widened and he stepped into Jefferson’s space like he was planning on sauntering right on through him. “Oh,” his words fluttered against Jefferson’s jawline as he spoke, "I’m going to call you whatever I want.”(A request from tumblr.)





	Delighted and Distracted

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: You _know what'd I'd love to see, a Jeff/Mads/Ham Room Where It Happens fix where Hamilton ends up doming both of the other two. Maybe Jeff and Mads planning having sex with him, but they weren't expecting how into it Hamilton was gonna be nor for him to 100% grab the riens even if he's bottoming and they are both horny as hell and confused by this turn of events._
> 
> ^ that pretty much sums up what to expect here.

The useful thing about being friends and co-workers with a man such as James Madison was that many things needed not be spelled out. Jefferson spent many a night drinking and conversing with him, about the financial plan, about the interests of the South, about the Potomac. The rest of it was left unstated, into the meaningful pauses and sidelong glances shared over the dinner table.

Jefferson was confident Madison had seen the way he looked at Hamilton when he was ranting on the congress floor, cheeks flushed and eyes burning hotter than Chesapeake Bay in July. He was confident the man knew what was to take place during their negotiations, and was amicable to it.

He suspected Washington knew as well, on that late Thursday evening in the presidential office, when he told them he would employ Alexander to hear out their proposal. Washington was too perceptive a man not to, too clinically calculative. Jefferson could have sworn there had been a flicker of secret amusement in the president’s eye as he said those words with an artificial air of carelessness to him, picking at a loose scrap of skin at his nail. At the time Jefferson had brushed it off as his own imagination - surely the president couldn’t have been happy to see his favorite son debase himself for his precious banks.

He ended up re-evaluating this notion before too long; by dessert, the flicker of amusement in Hamilton’s eye was far from secret.

What a peculiar shift it was. The Hamilton that had walked into Jefferson’s estate had been the same that pranced the halls of congress; insolent, rash, all biting remarks and dark, furious eyes. They had a long, heated debate about the implications of assumed state’s debt over the main course and the man barely touched his food as he leaned in, almost as if fighting the urge to physically lunge at Jefferson’s throat over the table.

Jefferson, in his part, leaned back in his chair and smiled in that way he knew ruffled Hamilton’s feathers even further. There was an anticipatory heat buzzing and spreading under his skin. The knowledge that by the end of this dinner he would be finally putting Hamilton into his place was too satisfying in itself for him to get riled up. He could feel the silent amusement vibrating in waves from Madison on his left hand side.

Then the dessert (some parfait with seasonal berries) was brought in, and everything changed.

Hamilton leaned back, closed his eyes and inhaled deep, like an exasperated parent who had been forced to use the rod on an insolent child. Jefferson and Madison followed with idle curiosity as the man picked up a spoon and twirled it between his nimble fingers.

“I suppose there is no point to this,” he murmured.

“Giving up so easily?” Jefferson taunted.

Hamilton snorted. “Why, surely you know me better than that by now, Mister Secretary.” Hamilton’s eyes traveled up and down Jefferson’s fashionably cut coat, slow and considerate. “We could keep fighting about the particularities of nationwide taxation until the sun rises, but it would make no difference.” His tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips. “Seeing that it is not what you invited me here for.”

Jefferson could tell his colleague was as struck dumb by the blatant offer in Hamilton’s words as he was. Or was it a challenge, rather?

“And what might that be?” Madison prompted, his voice as even as ever but his eyes considerate.

Hamilton smiled. It had a hint of his usual mocking sneer, but this time around there was something slow and predatory to it. Jefferson found his lips rather dry and moisturized them with his tongue absentmindedly.

“You’re curious,” Hamilton said, sprawling out on his seat, insolent, and propping his ankle on his knee. He looked at the delicate silver spoon between his fingers as though it had the power to show him the future. “You’ve heard things. Not outright rumors, people dare not say these things of me now that I’ve reached my position at the president’s side, but offhand whispers and implications. About the things I did to win over some of our wavering allies during the war. How I would keep the troops entertained through some of the coldest nights as a colonel.”

Jefferson’s teeth clamped down on his inner cheek. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes lingering on the way Hamilton’s gaudy, emerald coat clung to his narrow waist. _Hungry,_ they would say. “So you did, indeed, follow your mother’s footsteps on Washington’s command?”

He expected an explosion. Curses and threats spat at him, or at least that familiar flash of barely contained white hot rage in those penetrating eyes.

Hamilton all but shrugged, his eyes still on the little spoon in his hands, probably fixed on his warped reflection on the impeccably polished surface. “Washington knew how to utilize the capabilities of his men, myself included. He never had to force my hand in this regard.”

Madison’s head tilted to the side. The room seemed to have turned several degrees hotter.

“I could show you,” Hamilton all but whispered and finally placed the spoon carefully onto the table cloth. “If you would be amicable to co-operate, that is.”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow, his fingers drumming a languid rhythm against the hand rest of his chair. “Show us?”

Hamilton’s canine teeth flashed at them from across the table.

~~~

They ended up in Jefferson’s study, to which Hamilton had lead the way (hips swaying), like he owned the damn place. Jefferson was too curious and, frankly, aroused, to care.

Madison sat down into a magenta armchair by the fireplace, but Jefferson stood his ground in the middle of the room. God forbid he let Hamilton grab the reins just like that, like he wasn’t the one who had been driven into a corner.

Still with an unwarranted familiarity and confidence, Hamilton unbuttoned his coat and slung it over the back of a chair carelessly.

“Something the matter, Thomas?” Hamilton grinned.

Jefferson clicked his tongue. “What makes you think you can address me like that?”

Hamilton’s smile widened and he stepped into Jefferson’s space like he was planning on sauntering on right through him. “Oh,” his words fluttered against Jefferson’s jawline as he spoke, “but we are going to get to know each other so well, and I’m going to call you whatever I want.”

He was advancing still, matching every step Jefferson realized he was talking backwards. “Is that so?” He was so close, his scent (cologne, ink and skin) overwhelming and all that bursting intensity in his eyes aimed straight at Thomas at point blank range.

The backs of his knees hit the edge of a chair and Thomas fell into it ungracefully.

Hamilton snorted. “It is so.” He leaned down, over Thomas, palms pinning his wrists into the fabric of the hand rests. “You will keep your hands right here and you will not move unless told otherwise.”

 _Is that so,_ Jefferson would have asked again, but in the interest of not sounding excited by the notion, he did not. Hamilton would have only made fun of how repetitive he was getting, anyway.

He shared a sidelong glance with Madison, who to anyone else would have been as indecipherable as a sphinx. Jefferson could tell he wasn’t the only confused and curious one. Knowing the man, he was clinically assorting Hamilton’s behavior into neat little boxes, working out if some of it would aid in combatting him in the future.

Jefferson told himself he was doing the same.

Hamilton’s focus had shifted completely as well; it was as though he didn’t see Thomas at all anymore. His waistcoat hit the floorboards as he advanced upon Madison slowly.

“James.” Madison’s near-black eyes peered up at Hamilton in silent curiosity as the man stopped to stand between his knees. “You know, I have been in deep despair over the misunderstanding there has been between us.”

Madison hummed. “I’m certain you have, Alexander.” He made a move to touch Hamilton, but his hand was sharply swatted away.

“Stay still unless told otherwise.” Hamilton undid his belt buckle. “I presume you have oil somewhere in here?”

James gestured at the right cupboard without looking. They weren’t exactly new at this.

Soon Hamilton was straddling Madison in the chair, his trousers carelessly showed down to his thighs. Jefferson’s eyes lingered on the curve of his bare ass. His fingers, still resting on the hand rests, twitched slightly and he inhaled in frustration. He wasn’t a boy anymore, he should be above being stirred so deeply just by the mere sight of (relatively) young, bare flesh.

Hamilton’s hands rested on Madison’s chest in some perverse imitation of intimacy. “You’ll loosen me up, nice and slow, and if you do a good enough job of it I’ll ride you while Thomas here watches.”

Madison’s eyes were fixed on Hamilton’s face for two silent heartbeats. He licked his lips. “Very well.”

There was a myriad of reasons why being treated like a prop should _not_ have caused a stirring in Thomas’ breeches. In any other situation it wouldn’t have, this sort of thing usually did nothing for him unless he was in the other end of the power spectrum. It was because it was Hamilton that he found himself biting his lips as his breeches got more and more tight. This ferocity in the man, the insolent arrogance combined with the promising tilt of his hips with every step, was doing something inexplicable to Thomas’ principles.

And so he kept still, refrained from pressing a palm between his legs as Hamilton threw his head back and sighed as Madison’s oil-slicked fingers pressed inside of him. Hamilton’s face flushed a tantalizing shade of pink as Madison’s fingers stretched him out slowly and competently. Jefferson felt like he was going to go mad.

It was nothing compared to when Hamilton undid Madison’s breeches _(‘don’t move and keep your hands right here’)_ and sank down onto his cock like it was merely his toy. The way Hamilton grabbed the back of the chair and started to grind his hips all but screamed that Madison was but a convenient tool for achieving his pleasure.

“Ah, yes,” he hissed and sank all the way down to Madison’s hipbone, eliciting a nearly pained grunt from the other man. “Yes, yes!”

And from the first time in what felt like ages and ages he looked right at Jefferson, eyes hooded and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Jefferson’s fingernails were now digging into the fabric of the chair, his prick straining against his clothes hard as a rock. “Good boy,” Alex purred.

That was when Madison’s patience ran out. He seized Hamilton by the waist and his hips snapped upwards sharply and frustratedly. Hamilton’s mocking laughter quickly turned into breathy moans and he came with his fingers digging into the muscles of Madison’s shoulders shortly after.

Jefferson’s colleague slumped down in his chair panting like he had just climbed ten sets of stairs, while Hamilton pressed a condescending kiss against his hairline, stood up and stretched out his arms.

“Well then.” Jefferson tried and failed to swallow down his anticipation as Hamilton walked up to him slowly, gracefully even with a slight limb, like he didn’t have a care in the world even though Madison’s seed was dripping down his inner thigh. “I was planning on rewarding you for being good by riding you as well, but,” Hamilton pointed his thumb at Madison, “I am afraid your friend here ruined it for you. So.”

Hamilton leaned over Thomas and pressed the heel of his hand between his legs, grinning. “I am feeling very generous what with the banks I am to get thanks to these negotiations, so I am going to count to five until I remove my hand. You may move your hips, but not your hands. Understood?”

Frankly, Jefferson barely did, the pressure _right there_ after all of this time of not being touched alone sent a jolt of heat through him. He was past the point of questioning what it was that made him nod with a terrible, weak whine instead of pinning Hamilton down and simply taking what he wanted.

Hamilton’s head tilted to the side. “Good. One.”

Jefferson grabbed the hand rests tighter to get better leverage as he buckled his hips upwards into the point of pressure between his legs.

“Two.”

Would he ever be able to look Hamilton in the eye from this close a distance again without remembering this? Without seeing this flash of possessive delight in the dark brown of his irises?

“Three.”

Hamilton’s glistening, pink lips were only a few inches away. Thomas had thought of fucking that mouth with such self-assuredness just earlier that day, he’d thought he would no doubt have Hamilton on his knees by the end of the night. A flash of cruelty in Hamilton’s eyes and suddenly his palm retreated for an inch or so, forcing Jefferson to strain all of his muscles to rut against it. He growled in frustration, followed by a broken moan as the cotton of his underthings dragged against the sore slit of his cock from a new angle.

“Four.”

God, Thomas hated this man. He soiled his expensive, impeccably tailored velvet pants with a strangled shout and slumped back into the chair as if paralyzed. Hamilton’s voice sounded distant and muffled in the midst of the fog in his head.

“-ve. Good.”

Suddenly Jefferson understood how boneless Madison must have felt once Hamilton was through with him. It wasn’t the physical exertion in itself necessarily, as much as the feeling of being run down, being forced to yield in every sense of the word.

Hamilton rolled his wrist with a slight frown as though he was the one who had done all the work. “Well, I better get going before Eliza starts to fret.” He yanked his pants on and grabbed the rest of his clothes as the two Southerners watched in exhausted silence. He didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder. “Cheerio.”

Gone.

Jefferson finally managed to bring himself to make eye contact with Madison. Both of their chests were still rising and falling heavily.

“What the hell… just happened?” Jefferson managed to string the words together with some difficulty.

Madison slowly tucked his softened member back into his pants. Hamilton’s cum stood out very blatantly against the dark wine red of his coat. “We got the capital?” he suggested.

Jefferson snorted and grimaced at the uncomfortable slickness slowly spreading in his pants. “Yeah.”

Somehow he didn’t feel particularly victorious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the requester! Send me your deepest filth-related wishes [here.](https://nightshiftblues.tumblr.com/)


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